


The Stupid and the Hopeless

by LeapAngstily



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: (excluding the Christmas Special), Canon Compliant, M/M, Slow Build, Spoilers up to the season 6 finale, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 12:11:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5205419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeapAngstily/pseuds/LeapAngstily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There will come a time when you must decide whether to trust your own instincts or let the others do the thinking for you. For Andy, that decision appears in the form of one Mr Barrow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stupid and the Hopeless

**Author's Note:**

> I must warn you that this is the first non-football-related fic I’ve written in over ten years. It might also be the last, depending on how my muses behave. Or more accurately, how badly the Christmas Special fucks us over.
> 
> The facts are:  
> 1) I’ve just marathoned all six seasons of Downton Abbey in a bit over a week.  
> 2) I’m extremely pissed off with how they treated Thomas.  
> 3) Thomas/Andy was the only non-canon pairing I shipped during the whole series. (Obviously not counting Thomas/Happiness, because that should go without saying.)
> 
> Anyways, imagine my surprise when I came to AO3 searching for fics and realized I’ve _once again_ boarded a (relatively) small ship! I basically felt it my duty to throw my own contribution into the mix.

_”And she was right, wasn’t she? So next time, ask your Uncle Thomas.”_  
  
  
  
  
  
Andy feels indebted to Mr Barrow in more ways than he can count – not that it says much, since he is laughably bad with numbers, just like he is with anything that has to do with learning. But that’s beside the point.  
  
The point is, Mr Barrow has been helping Andy out over and over again: first by winning back the money he had lost at the Velvet Violin, then by getting him the job at Downton despite the less than favourable first impression he had left on Mr Carson, and finally by patiently looking after him once he arrived at the estate.  
  
Moreover, Andy quite enjoys Mr Barrow’s company: sure, he can be prickly and even outright mean at times, but never towards Andy – on the contrary, he’s been nothing but kind to Andy ever since they first met in London. Well, as long as one doesn’t take his sarcasm and dry humour too seriously.  
  
To put things simply, Andy likes having a friend he can turn to without feeling stupid or a burden, and Mr Barrow offers him just that.  
  
That’s why he finds it so hard to understand why no one else in Downton seems to like Mr Barrow – bar Miss Baxter and the children, of course. Mr Barrow might have a difficult personality, yes, but underneath the tough exterior, he just doesn’t seem like a bad person to Andy.  
  
Andy hears the offhand comments from Mrs Hughes, Mrs Patmore, Mr Carson – not quite meant for his ears but not entirely hushed either – about how he should find his own way of doing things, how he should be able to get things done on his own, how Mr Barrow should leave him be and concentrate on his own work.  
  
At first, Andy thinks they are talking about his competence: it’s been weeks since his arrival at Downton, so obviously he’s expected to do his job without Mr Barrow’s help. It’s only when the comments become more blatant – people interrupting Mr Barrow mid-sentence, making fun of him for merely offering his help – that Andy realizes it has nothing to do with him and everything to do with Mr Barrow.  
  
They’re trying to put a division between Andy and Mr Barrow, and Andy still has no idea why.  
  
So Andy sets off to find out the truth behind all the secrecy, because he might be stupid, and he might be illiterate, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys being left out of the loop. He doesn’t like  _feeling_  stupid around the people he’s supposed to call his friends.  
  
“It’s nothing, he’s just not a nice person is all,” Daisy tells him matter-of-factly as she prepares the soup for luncheon. “Always plotting something; Thomas doesn’t do anything for others if he doesn’t gain something from it.”  
  
“Well he’s always been nice to me,” Andy counters with a shrug just as Mrs Patmore hurries into the kitchen with a list of things still remaining to be done for the day.  
  
“For now,” Daisy answers quietly and meets his eyes, offering him a small smile before turning back to her soup. “Just don’t let him trick you into anything stupid, okay?”  
  
Andy likes Daisy. She’s nice and pretty and incredibly smart – Andy can’t help but be awed by her passion whenever she starts talking about her studies or politics or Mr Mason’s difficult situation. Daisy is the kind of girl any guy would be lucky to have; the kind of girl Andy’s parents would love to meet.  
  
On the other hand, being around her is also a painful reminder of his own stupidity – here is Daisy, preparing for her examinations, intelligent and passionate and hardworking, and then there is Andy, who can just barely scribble out his own name. It’s not fair.  
  
Maybe she’s too smart for him, because despite her warnings, Andy still has no idea why the people at Downton are so convinced that Mr Barrow is such a bad influence on him.  
  
But then one day, he happens to hear some maids gossiping in the corridor just outside the kitchen, his interest piqued when he catches his own name in the conversation: they are whispering about  _“poor dear Andy, Mr Barrow just doesn’t get the message. He should just turn him down flat or he might end up like Jimmy.”_  
  
Andy doesn’t know what happened to Jimmy, but it doesn’t matter because finally he  _gets_  it, and all the earlier comments and actions – all the half-hushed whispers probably not meant for his ears – suddenly make perfect sense.   
  
It had all been there, out in the open. Andy had just been too daft to realize it.  
  
  
  
  
  
Mr Barrow is looking for a new job, which would’ve been a good enough reason on its own for Andy to keep him at arm’s length – he really needs to learn to manage on his own, because soon enough Mr Barrow won’t be there to help him. At least that’s what Andy tells himself as he starts turning down Mr Barrow’s help.   
  
(It definitely has nothing to do with Mr Barrow liking men— liking Andy?)  
  
“Looking for a place, Mr Barrow?” Andy tries to keep his tone casual when he asks the question, eyeing the newspaper curiously as if he could actually read what’s printed on the white pages. He  _is_ curious, of course, but not about the newspaper – what he wishes to know are Mr Barrow’s own thoughts on the matter, something no one else in the household seems to be too worried about.  
  
Mr Barrow seems to be in such a hurry to leave Downton, but why or where, no one has bothered to ask. It’s like it’s all the same to them where he goes, as long as he just  _goes_.  
  
To be completely honest, Andy isn’t sure if he should feel happy or sad to see him leave. He still doesn’t find Mr Barrow a bad chap, only a bit— different, a bit too friendly, maybe? It’s not enough to wish him gone, not by far. But if Mr Barrow  _wants_  to leave – and why wouldn’t he, with the way he’s being treated in Downton – then perhaps Andy should be happy for him.  
  
“I might be. Would you be sorry?” There’s a teasing smirk on Mr Barrow’s lips, one of his eyebrows slightly raised. Andy can feel an involuntary smile tugging at his own lips and he quickly ducks his face down to hide it. That was definitely flirting, and once again Andy feels like an idiot for not noticing anything sooner.  
  
He feels guilty, because obviously he’s been unknowingly leading Mr Barrow on for God knows how long. He has heard a bit more about Jimmy – just snippets, really, just enough to get the general picture – and he doesn’t want Mr Barrow to get hurt the same way for the second time, not if he can help it.  
  
Mr Barrow is still looking at him when Andy looks up again, his smirk replaced with a confused frown. He turns his gaze back to the newspaper quickly when he realizes Andy is looking back at him.  
  
Andy leaves the room soon after, afraid he might say something stupid if he doesn’t, something that might embarrass Mr Barrow and Andy both and lead to even bigger misunderstandings between them.  
  
  
  
  
  
Andy likes to watch Mr Barrow playing with the kids. He doesn’t get to see it often, partly because he’s busy with his own work, but mostly because Mr Barrow rarely slips out of character whenever there are other people (adults) around.  
  
But then there are moments when Master George or Miss Marigold comes downstairs to look for the under-butler, and Mr Barrow never even hesitates before he lets the children sweep him off from whatever he had been doing. He never snaps at them – actually, he never as much as utters a mean word when the kids are within earshot – his whole expression softening in an instant, making him look like a completely different person.  
  
Sometimes Andy sneaks after them just to see more of this side of Mr Barrow, because it’s a relief to see him so relaxed, unguarded, even  _happy_.   
  
Andy has come to notice that a happy Mr Barrow is a rare sight, almost nonexistent, which is one of the reasons why he believes leaving Downton would be for the best for all parties involved, but especially for Mr Barrow himself – there’s no way he’d be this unhappy in any other place, right?  
  
Master George is tugging on Mr Barrow’s hair happily, telling him to go faster, and Mr Barrow is laughing out loud even as he tries to berate the young master, which of course means the attack on his sleek hair continues without interruption.  
  
Andy just about manages to wipe off the stupid grin from his face when a maid appears from around the corner, stopping in her tracks when she sees him, curious eyes taking in the sight of Mr Barrow with the children and Andy’s strategic position just out of their view.   
  
Her eyes widen in sudden realization, her lips forming a silent ‘oh’, and Andy desperately wishes there was something he could say to nip the misunderstanding in the bud.  
  
His brain betrays him once again, as it is so prone to do, and Andy stays silent with a tight but polite half-smile firmly in place – he belatedly realizes it’s an expression he’s picked up from Mr Barrow.  
  
“Mr Carson was looking for you, Andrew. You’re needed at the library,” the maid finally says, loud enough that Mr Barrow must hear it too.   
  
Andy doesn’t dare to look at his direction as he mumbles quick thanks and leaves the corridor, walking as quickly as he can without raising any more suspicions than he already has.  
  
For the rest of the day, Andy half-expects Mr Barrow to bring up the episode, maybe to make fun of his subtlety of a brick, but the under-butler makes no mention of it, instead focusing all his energy on the newspaper again.  
  
Apparently his search for a new job isn’t going too well, him being either over-qualified or the jobs too undervalued for him. Andy wishes he could cheer him up somehow, but his supposedly supportive comment is only met with a bitter smile.  
  
“I expect you’d be glad to see the back of me.”  
  
_No, I wouldn’t!_  The reply is almost on Andy’s tongue before he catches himself. He’s genuinely surprised to realize that he really doesn’t want Mr Barrow to leave, especially not because of him. But saying that out loud might send a wrong message…  
  
“If that’s what you want,” Andy answers simply, keeping his voice carefully neutral, and then he leaves the room, heading for the kitchen to keep Daisy company. (Or maybe it’s the other way around?)  
  
It’s better for Mr Barrow to hate Andy than to give him any false hope. Andy doesn’t want to be the one holding Mr Barrow back, when it’s so obvious he’d be better off somewhere else.  
  
The betrayal in Mr Barrow’s voice follows Andy all the way back to his room that night. Just before he falls asleep, Andy suddenly remembers there used to be a time when Mr Barrow’s expression softened in his company the same way it still does with the children.  
  
Andy cannot sleep that night.  
  
  
  
  
  
To Andy, being unable to read has never been a major problem, embarrassing as it may be. It’s not a skill he needs in his daily life – not as long as he stays in service, at least – and while he’s not a particularly gifted liar, he’s learned to fake literacy quite convincingly.  
  
He’s been in Downton for half a year by the time he’s first expected to read something on his own, and during that time, no one’s ever thought to question his magazines.  
  
So of course it has to be Mr Barrow who walks in on him trying to make sense of the bloody pig rearing books Mr Mason gave him. Anyone else might have left him be, satisfied with his short answers, but not Mr Barrow, who’s probably the most perceptive person Andy has ever met.  
  
_The red one?_  How bloody obvious can he be? Why not straight up announce he has no idea what the letters on the book covers mean? Mr Barrow might not have said anything about it, but Andy  _knows_  he knows – how could he not? Mr Barrow’s known Andy is an idiot for as long as he’s known Andy, so something like this probably doesn’t even surprise him.  
  
Now it’s a matter of time before everyone in Downton knows, because Mr Barrow has no reason to keep this new information to himself – Andy’s made sure of it by acting like a jerk towards him.  
  
Andy doesn’t bring the books downstairs again; instead, he hides in his room, safe from Mr Barrow’s perceptive eyes and Daisy’s genuinely interested questions. But no matter how much he stares at the unmoving lines, the words still don’t magically start making sense to him.  
  
Andy can’t remember ever being as frustrated with himself as he is right then, when he flings the red book across the room in anger, knocking over a lamp sitting on the nightstand. It falls to the floor with a loud crash and Andy cusses at it some more, his frustration over the books, over his own stupidity, over Daisy and Mr Barrow all mixing up together.  
  
And then the door opens and Mr Barrow is there. Of course he bloody is – when has he ever left Andy on his own for long? Andy wants to yell at him, tell him to take care of his own bloody business, but instead he picks up the lamp and offers a half-assed explanation about throwing a book – because what else is he supposed to say when it’s  _obvious_  he did throw the book?  
  
“Oh yes, the red one,” Mr Barrow sounds almost amused as he says it, which in turn makes Andy feel even more embarrassed. “Why did you throw it?”  
  
_You know bloody well why I threw it, stop pretending you don’t._  Andy keeps his mouth shut, desperate to hang onto the last shred of his pride.   
  
Mr Barrow closes the door behind him – it’s the first time they’ve been alone in there since Andy arrived and Mr Barrow showed him to his room – and takes a step towards Andy, the amused expression falling off his face as he repeats: “Why did you throw the book, Andy?”  
  
Andy doesn’t meet his eyes, only waits for him to come to the right conclusion on his own.  
  
“You can’t read, can y—”  
  
“No, I can’t bloody read!” Andy is surprised at his own outburst, but as soon as it’s out, he realizes he can’t take it back. Mr Barrow knows,  _really_  knows, and he will think Andy an illiterate imbecile who’s not worth his time or concern. The mere thought makes Andy feel even worse. “Go and have a good laugh about it!”  
  
_Just go away, go away, go away…_  
  
“I’m not laughing.”   
  
Just like that, Andy’s anger disappears.  
  
Mr Barrow keeps speaking, but Andy’s brain is too overwhelmed with relief to actually register the conversation: he answers, he explains, but all he can think of is  _Mr Barrow doesn’t think I’m stupid, he doesn’t mind, he’s not making fun of me._  
  
Mr Barrow offers to teach Andy to read and write, secretly, so that no one else will ever know. He calls Andy a “clever lad”, a compliment no one’s ever paid to him before. Mr Barrow is a good liar, unlike Andy, so he actually makes it sound convincing, too – if he says Andy can learn, then he bloody well will learn.  
  
Andy feels so giddy that he just barely manages to stop himself from beaming up at Mr Barrow like the idiot he is. But at the same time there’s the unbearable guilt, because Mr Barrow is still being so kind to him, even after Andy’s been so horrible towards him.  
  
No matter what other people say, Mr Barrow’s never asked anything from Andy in return for his kindness, and there’s nothing he stands to gain by teaching Andy.  
  
They’re all wrong. Mr Barrow  _is_  a nice person and Andy doesn’t deserve any of it.  
  
“Mr Barrow.” Andy snaps into attention when Mr Barrow turns to leave. He doesn’t know if it’ll do any good, but he needs to at least say it – to apologize. “I’ve not behaved well towards you, and I’m sorry for it.”  
  
Mr Barrow’s expression softens, just momentarily, a sad smile rising on his lips. “I’ve known worse. Good night, Andy.”  
  
The worst part is, Andy knows he’s telling the truth.  
  
  
  
  
  
“It doesn’t work; I’m too stupid to understand any of this!” Andy huffs in frustration and pushes the book away for the third time that night. Mr Barrow catches it before it falls off the desk and opens it again, patiently setting it back in front of Andy.  
  
“You’re not stupid. Look how far you’ve come already – you didn’t get this part when we first started and you understand it now, don’t you? You’ll get the hang of it, I promise. It’ll just take some time.” Mr Barrow is pointing at the word he had been struggling with earlier, and Andy grudgingly agrees that there might be one thing he’s learned tonight.  
  
“Look, I appreciate what you’re doing, Mr Barrow, but I don’t wanna be a burden to you,” he still feels obliged to argue – he’s fishing for reassurances, he knows, and he’s not disappointed either.  
  
“Nonsense, I’m happy to help.” Mr Barrow brushes his hand against Andy’s arm and offers him a comforting smile that makes Andy’s own lips quirk upwards too. “Should we call it a day? We’ve got a long day ahead us tomorrow.”  
  
Oh yes, the open house.  
  
“Oh, and Andy,” Mr Barrow calls after him just as he’s about to leave, his hand frozen on the doorknob. “Would you consider calling me Thomas when we’re not working? It makes this feel a bit too formal, doesn’t it?”  
  
“I’m not sure that’d be proper,” Andy answers automatically, even though another smile is tugging at his lips even as he speaks. There’s a flutter of relief in his chest. It feels good, being friends again, not worrying about what other people might think. “Good night, Mr Barrow.”  
  
“Good night, Andy.” There it is again, a flash of an unguarded smile, of the gentleness most people think Mr Barrow incapable of.  
  
Andy is still smiling to himself when he closes the door behind him, so deep in his own thoughts that he doesn’t even notice Mr Carson in the corridor before he hears him speak.  
  
“Andrew, what were you doing in Mr Barrow’s room?”  
  
There’s so much disapproval hidden in that one question that Andy comes crashing back down to reality. He knows what Mr Carson must be thinking – he’s not  _that_ stupid – and he knows it’ll mostly reflect badly on Mr Barrow if Andy doesn’t manage to diminish the suspicion.  
  
For one second, he actually considers telling the truth, but then he realizes he’s not brave enough to reveal his secret to anyone else in the household, let alone Mr Carson. He has to lie.  
  
“We were— I was borrowing a book.” Keep it as close to the truth as possible, Mr Barrow had told him when Andy had asked what he was supposed to say if anyone came asking about his nightly disappearances.  
  
“What book? Where is it?” The suspicion in Mr Carson’s eyes only intensifies, and Andy realizes his obvious mistake far too late. What book?  _The red one._ Andy has to hold back a chuckle, even though it’s not funny in the least, not when his ridiculously bad lying might be hurting Mr Barrow’s position in Mr Carson’s eyes.  
  
“I left it there. I’ll get it in the morning,” Andy says it quickly – perhaps a bit too quickly – unable to shake the completely inappropriate smile off his face. “Good night, Mr Carson.”  
  
He makes his escape before Mr Carson can say anything more. He’ll explain the situation to Mr Barrow tomorrow, before the butler has a chance to bring it up, and Mr Barrow will definitely know what to say to make things right.  
  
Unfortunately for both Andy and Mr Barrow (though mostly Mr Barrow), they’re too swamped with work for the whole following day to have time for a private word. By the time they’re released from duty, Andy has forgotten all about his uncomfortable encounter with Mr Carson.  
  
He realizes his mistake only when Mr Barrow tells him they should probably take a bit of a break from their lessons, to make sure no one finds out about his secret.  
  
  
  
  
  
Andy had known he couldn’t hide it forever, especially with the way the lessons are going – Mr Barrow is a good teacher, patient and encouraging, but Andy is a shit learner, has always been. Still, he would’ve never thought he would be forced to reveal his secret to so many people at once.  
  
Mr Barrow looks like there’s nothing he would rather do than snatch the exam paper from Andy’s hands when Mrs Patmore urges him to read the question aloud, but there’s only so much he can do without raising even more suspicion.  
  
Andy gets only to the second word – his hands are shaking and he can hear blood rushing in his ears, the letters shifting right in front of his eyes until they make no sense whatsoever – before Mr Barrow gives in to the urge and takes the paper from his hands. He reads the question quickly and then turns his worried eyes back to Andy, who wishes he could sink into the ground and disappear.  
  
“I can’t read, Mr Molesley,” he finally admits, meeting the footman’s eyes only momentarily before seeking Mr Barrow’s gaze instead, as if looking for support. Mr Barrow is looking down at his hands, his earlier good mood visibly shaken. “Mr Barrow’s been trying to teach me to read, but I’m too stupid to learn.”  
  
Mr Barrow always –  _always_  – tells Andy he’s not stupid whenever he says it, but this time he remains silent, and instead it’s Daisy who protests his choice of words. It doesn’t sound nearly as convincing from her lips, even if Andy knows it really should matter – Daisy is the one he likes, after all; the one he’d wanted to impress when he started learning. (Isn’t she?)  
  
The secret’s out in the open now and no one’s making fun of him. Headmaster Dawes even offers to teach him – he actually promises Andy he will be able to read within weeks, something Andy had never imagined possible.  
  
The only one who doesn’t seem pleased with the situation is Mr Barrow, who half-heartedly offers to help Andy with the packing up, but leaves right after when Andy tells him he will be fine – what else was he supposed to say? He doesn’t need help, and he definitely doesn’t wish to keep Mr Barrow there against his will.  
  
Andy does bring up his lessons with Mr Barrow during the dinner that night, though, keeping his voice low to prevent the rest of the staff from eavesdropping. “I guess you won’t need to waste your evenings on me anymore, huh?”  
  
“I guess so,” Mr Barrow answers absent-mindedly, picking at his meal, not meeting Andy’s eyes.  
  
“I’m really grateful to you, you know,” Andy continues, because it’s obvious that whatever’s bothering Mr Barrow has something to do with Andy and their reading lessons. “I’d never had had the guts to even try reading that question if it wasn’t for you, Mr Barrow.”  
  
“I’m happy for you, Andy,” Mr Barrow tells him flatly, still not eating, just pushing the food around his plate aimlessly. He finally meets Andy’s gaze; his face is lined with exhaustion Andy could swear wasn’t there earlier. “It’ll be easier like this for you, too – no more secrecy. Maybe I’ll even get Mr Carson off my back now, aye?”  
  
Andy wishes he could say something to cheer him up – something to get that little glimmer of warmth back into Mr Barrow’s eyes – but he can’t think of anything, so he turns his attention back to his food, instead.  
  
Mr Barrow huffs out a humourless chuckle and goes back to picking at his own meal, eyes downcast and the corners of his mouth downturned.  
  
  
  
  
  
Something’s not right, Andy knows it when Miss Baxter’s eyes widen in panic as she hears the word “bath” and she tells him to come with her.  
  
Something’s terribly wrong, he realizes when there’s no answer from the bathroom, panic squeezing his own insides now too, blood rushing through his ears, and he doesn’t hesitate before kicking the door open – not even though it’s his first time doing anything like this and the impact hurts his foot more than it probably should.  
  
None of it matters, because Mr Barrow is lying in the bathtub unconscious, unnaturally pale, the unmoving water coloured red with his blood.  
  
“Oh my God.”  
  
It’s Andy’s fault, his brain tells him. He is stuck in place, unable to function, unable to think, his eyes stuck on Mr Barrow’s lifeless form in front of him. He wants to cry, yell, rush forward and pull Mr Barrow out of the tub, but instead he just stands there, useless.  
  
_It’s my fault. It’s my fault. It’s my fault…_  
  
Miss Baxter’s voice is what snaps him back to reality – she’s telling him to get help, because Mr Barrow is not dead, there’s still time, they can still save him.  
  
Andy can’t remember ever running as fast as he does right then, rushing downstairs in search of Mrs Hughes and Anna. He can’t shake the image of Mr Barrow out of his mind – he should’ve known, should’ve realized something was wrong, should’ve done or said something to show Mr Barrow that he cared.  
  
Thankfully, Mrs Hughes takes the lead as soon as she hears what’s happened, sending Anna to fetch Dr Clarkson and telling Andy to show her the way back upstairs. Andy follows the orders automatically, suddenly feeling numb, relieved to have someone there to tell him what to do.  
  
Mr Barrow is still in the bathtub when they get back, Miss Baxter sitting next to him, caressing his face in a motherly fashion. He is not bleeding anymore, his arms lifted from the water, and Andy thinks he doesn’t look quite as pale anymore, although it might be just his brain playing tricks on him.  
  
Mr Barrow lets out a pained gasp when Andy and Mrs Hughes take a hold of his arms to lift him out of the tub, his head lulling to the side, face momentarily pressed against Andy’s shoulder. A wave of relief washes over Andy, because pained or not, at least he’s still alive, still in Andy’s reach. He lifts his hand to touch Mr Barrow’s face, gently readjusting his position into a more comfortable one.  
  
“I hate to think he was so unhappy,” Miss Baxter says, unshed tears shimmering in her eyes, and Andy silently agrees with her. The worst part is, he had known Mr Barrow was unhappy, had seen it on many occasions, and he had done nothing to help him – on the contrary, he’d made it worse!  
  
“Well, at least he’s not gone too far,” Andy replies, trying to keep his voice steady even though there are sobs threatening to escape his lips as soon as he opens his mouth. He says it more to reassure himself than Miss Baxter, but it doesn’t help in the least.  
  
Mr Barrow’s head feels heavy against his shoulder, but at least Andy can feel his faint breath against his hand now – a subtle sign that it’s not too late, that Andy still has a chance to make things right; he can still let Mr Barrow know how he feels…  
  
Oh.  _Oh!_  
  
Andy almost looses his hold on Mr Barrow as the realization dawns on him. And then he feels like kicking himself for not realizing it sooner.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Andy is fully aware he can’t spend his every waking moment at Mr Barrow’s bedside – not without drawing unwanted attention to them both, at least – but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least give it a try.  
  
“No one else downstairs knows,” Miss Baxter reminds him gently when he refuses to leave the room to attend dinner with the rest of the staff. “He wouldn’t want them to know, either, and we should respect that. It’s just dinner, Andy— I’m sure you’ll be back before he wakes up. Dr Clarkson said it might take until morning before he regains consciousness.”  
  
But what if the doctor’s wrong and Mr Barrow comes to while Andy’s gone: all alone, confused, disoriented, and still so very lonely? Andy feels like there’s been something stuck in his throat ever since he first broke through the bathroom door.  
  
“I’m coming, just gimme a minute,” is all he tells Miss Baxter who offers him a comforting smile and closes the door behind her, leaving Andy alone with Mr Barrow – _Thomas_  – once more.  
  
“Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon,” he tells the unmoving form, reaching out to stroke the still too cool face. Thomas doesn’t respond, still as a doll, his light blue pyjamas only highlighting how unnaturally pale he is.  
  
Andy hadn’t dared to intervene more than absolutely necessary when Mrs Hughes and Miss Baxter had set off to change Thomas out of his wet clothes, his revelation still too fresh in his mind – touching Thomas’s bare skin like that, even if it was just to help him, had felt too invasive, too personal.  
  
_I love you._  
  
Andy doesn’t dare to say it out loud, but he still means it, he knows he does.   
  
_God_ , does he mean it.  
  
  
  
  
  
Andy falls asleep in his chair, head rested on his crossed arms next to Thomas’s pillow.   
  
There is a second bed, too, but it’s too far away from Thomas, and Andy is afraid he might miss him waking up if he lies down.  
  
He wakes up to Thomas gently running his fingers through his hair – the room is dark and there are no sounds coming from the corridor, so it must still be the middle of the night.  
  
Thomas pulls his hand away the moment he realizes Andy is awake. His rushed “I’m sorry!” and Andy’s surprised “You’re awake!” come out at the exactly same time.  
  
“So it seems,” Thomas is the first to acknowledge Andy’s words, his tone subdued. “Unfortunately. I guess you’re here to make sure I won’t try to do it again?”  
  
“Don’t say that,” Andy whispers through the piece that’s still firmly stuck in his throat. Tears are stinging his eyes, but he forces them back and goes for a relieved smile instead – not that Thomas can see it in the darkness. “I was worried. We all were.”  
  
“Whatever you say…” Thomas is now studying the dressings covering his stitched arms. “Just go to bed, Andy. I promise you I won’t try to off myself again tonight.”  
  
Something in Thomas’s dull tone tells Andy he’s telling the truth – like he’s too past caring to even attempt anything for the second time – but Andy still makes no move to leave him. That had been his first mistake, leaving Thomas alone when all he needed was the company. He has no intention of doing it again before he’s certain Thomas will be fine.  
  
Thomas falls asleep again soon after, visibly too exhausted to argue with Andy’s decision.   
  
Andy remains awake at his bedside until the morning, when Miss Baxter comes in with a breakfast tray and shoos him away, reminding him Mr Carson needs his help serving the family’s breakfast.  
  
  
  
  
  
_“If I have, I’ve only myself to blame. I’ve done and said things— I don’t know why, can’t stop myself. Now I’m paying the price.”_  
  
Andy doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, he truly doesn’t. He had been on the way to Thomas’s room when he saw Lady Mary and Master George entering, so he had stopped and waited around the corner, to give them a chance to talk in peace – because Thomas needs to realize he’s not alone, and who would be better to show him that than Master George, whose adoration for Thomas seems to only be rivalled by Thomas’s adoration for him?  
  
But the door is open and the walls are thin, so Andy can’t help but hear Thomas’s self-deprecating words. It’s all he can do not to barge into the room right then and there, etiquette be damned, and tell Thomas he’s wrong – that he doesn’t deserve any of this.  
  
It is Anna who interrupts the conversation, entering the room with Thomas’s lunch, prompting Lady Mary to get her son and leave. Andy doesn’t get a chance to duck out of view before they walk around the corner and find him standing there, his back against the wall, obviously in no hurry to leave.  
  
“Andrew, are you quite alright? You don’t look too well.”  
  
Of course Lady Mary would notice Andy’s appearance. He had managed to hide his exhaustion well enough during the breakfast and no one had mentioned it downstairs either, but alone in the corridor he had let his concentration slip.  
  
“I’m sure it’s nothing. I’m sorry for worrying you, Lady Mary, Master George.”  
  
“Do take care of yourself; we wouldn’t want you to catch whatever bug Mr Barrow has.”  
  
“Very good, my lady.”  
  
Andy stands in attention just long enough for them to leave the servants’ corridor before he makes his way to Thomas’s now closed door. Anna has left already, probably to join the others for lunch. Andy knows he should go down too, to avoid any unnecessary gossip, but he needs to see Thomas before he does.  
  
“Well aren’t I popular today,” Thomas notes sardonically as Andy enters, putting down the book he probably just picked up, his food tray sitting untouched next to his bed.  
  
“You should eat; Dr Clarkson said it’s important you make up for the lost blood as soon as possible,” Andy tells him in what he hopes doesn’t come across as a berating tone. He walks over to the tray and lifts it back to the bed, before sitting down on the empty bed to watch Thomas picking at his food.  
  
“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Andy; you don’t need to bother with me.” Thomas is still talking as if he’s the only one who cares about his own wellbeing.  
  
“But that’s just it, isn’t it? You don’t  _have to_  do it all by yourself. I don’t  _mind_  taking care of you – it’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me, Mr Barrow.” Andy can feel the blush creeping on his face, making his ears burn with sudden shyness as he corrects himself, “Thomas.”  
  
Thomas opens his mouth as if to say something more, but then he only lets out an embarrassed chuckle and picks up a piece of bread from the tray, biting into it slowly, not meeting Andy’s eyes.  
  
“It’s not your fault, you know,” Andy voices his thoughts after maybe ten minutes of silence, once Thomas has finished his bread and more than half of his soup.  
  
“What is?” Thomas asks lightly, although he obviously knows what Andy is talking about.  
  
“You. How everyone treats you. It’s not your fault.” Andy takes a deep breath in attempt to keep himself calm, even though he wants to yell it at Thomas’s face, shake him until he  _gets_  it. “You’re not a bad person, Thomas – no bad person would’ve spent all that time trying to teach me how to read – and even if you were, no one deserves to be treated like you have.”  
  
“You don’t know me, Andy,” Thomas retorts quietly, his expression sad, defeated. “I’ve done stuff in the past you couldn’t even begin to understand. They’re right to hate me. You probably should, too.”  
  
“Who cares about the past?” Andy snaps, standing up from the bed and closing the distance between them, looking down at Thomas’s surprised face. “You’ve been nothing but good to me for this past year we’ve known each other. If anything, you should be the one to hate me for acting like a twat towards you for so long.”  
  
“Andy—”  
  
“And know what? I think it’s everyone else who should be sorry, because it’s not like they’ve given you a chance to show them your worth – they only ever acknowledge the bad things you do or say, and never see all the  _good_  you do!”  
  
“Stop it, Andy.”  
  
“No, I’m not stopping, because you need to hear it!” Andy has balled his firsts, his short nails digging into his palms painfully. “I don’t give a shit even if you’re the most horrible person on earth to everyone else; I’ve seen how you are with the people you care about, and I’ve seen how you are when it’s just the two of us. You’re a nice person, Thomas, and you don’t  _deserve_  to be hurt like this.”  
  
It’s probably the most honest Andy has ever been with Thomas.  
  
“ _Fine,_ you win.” Thomas is actually smiling when Andy finally takes time to breathe, a proper, honest smile, even if it’s still lacking genuine happiness. “Jesus, Andy, remind me never to make you angry for real.”  
  
“As long as you know…” Andy mumbles, embarrassment finally catching up with him.  
  
“Thanks, Andy,” Thomas says softly, reaching out to brush his left hand against Andy’s. It’s the first time Andy sees the old gunshot wound up close, a painful reminder that Thomas has been through much more than Andy could even begin to understand. “It’s good to know someone still cares about silly old me. Even if ‘nice person’ might be taking it a bit far.”  
  
“We do care – Miss Baxter, Mrs Hughes, Lady Mary, the children...” Andy turns his hand so he can touch Thomas’s fingers with his own. “ _I care_. Probably more than you think. And you  _are_  nice.”  _I love you._  
  
“Careful now, I might get the wrong idea,” Thomas jokes as he pulls his hand away from Andy’s. He obviously has no idea how close to home his words hit. “Don’t you have somewhere to be at this hour? Mr Carson’ll have my head if he hears I’ve been keeping you from your duties.”  
  
Andy hesitates for a moment, looming over Thomas’s bed – this is it, this is his chance to tell Thomas how he feels – but in the end he decides against it.  
  
Thomas probably wouldn’t believe him, in any case. Andy is having hard time believing it himself, after all.  
  
  
  
  
  
The news of Lady Mary’s sudden decision to get married keeps the whole household busy for the rest of the week. Even Thomas comes back to work two days into the wedding preparations, blatantly going against Dr Clarkson’s orders, claiming he couldn’t take the constant ruckus right outside his door any longer.  
  
Andy does his best to keep an eye on him, but it’s not going too well, with Mr Carson looming over his shoulder at any given moment, sending him off to take care of this errand and then that, determined to make everything perfect for Lady Mary’s big day.  
  
“I’m not sure they appreciate all the fuss,” Thomas notes dryly when Andy runs into him near the servants’ door on the eve of the wedding, smoking a cigarette – Andy is fairly sure that’s against Dr Clarkson’s orders as well, but he knows better than to comment on it.  
  
“Who?”  
  
“Lady Mary and Mr Talbot, of course. Why’d you think they decided to set such an early date?” Thomas raises his eyebrows pointedly, as if Andy is supposed to know what he’s insinuating. (Andy has no idea.) “They obviously wanted to get it over with as soon and with as little fuss as possible. The marriage will raise big enough commotion on its own.”  
  
“People do love their gossip, don’t they?” Andy agrees quietly, walking over to stand next to Thomas, leaning his back against the wall, their shoulders brushing against each other comfortably.   
  
Thomas smells like cigarette smoke. Andy isn’t sure he likes it.  
  
“Speaking of gossip,” Thomas says after a moment of silence. He drops the finished cigarette to ground and puts it out with his foot. “You do know I never expected anything from you, right? I know no one here believes me when I say it, but I only ever wanted to be your friend. Honestly.”  
  
“…I know.” Well, Andy knows it  _now_.  
  
“Good.” Thomas is biting the inside of his lip as he searches his pockets for another cigarette. He’s not meeting Andy’s eyes; it makes Andy feel like there’s still an invisible barrier between them. “I just— I wanted to make sure you didn’t feel obliged to spend time with me. I’m not about kill myself if you go talk to Daisy or something. I’m past that, I promise.”  
  
His tone is decidedly light, but Andy can see the uncertainty in Thomas’s every movement as he lights another cigarette and breathes the foul smoke into his lungs.  
  
“And if I don’t want to ‘talk to Daisy or something’?” Andy has to ask it. He has to be sure. “I’d much rather talk to you.”  
  
“What?” There’s genuine surprise in Thomas’s eyes when he turns to face Andy. Andy silently wonders how many times one has to be brutally rejected before they start expecting it from the get go. Thomas is definitely well past that line.  
  
Instead of elaborating, Andy takes a hold of Thomas’s still bandaged wrist and pulls the cigarette off his lips. Thomas makes no attempt to pull away, but Andy still moves excruciatingly slowly, giving Thomas enough time to realize what he’s doing.  
  
Their noses bump together. Andy lets out a nervous laugh before he takes a hold of Thomas’s chin and turns his face upwards, until he can press a chaste kiss on his dry lips. Thomas tastes like cigarette smoke, too. Andy realizes he doesn’t mind it in the least, not like this.  
  
“Wow,” Thomas breathes out when Andy steps back, hands dropping down to his sides. Thomas lifts the cigarette back to his lips, taking another drag of smoke. His gloved hand is trembling a little. “That was— unexpected?”  
  
Andy lets out the relieved chuckle he was holding as he leans his back against the wall again, relaxing slowly. “I’m really dense, you know? Took me this long to come around and realize it. You really shouldn’t expect much from me on that department.”  
  
“Nah, you’re a smart lad.” Thomas smiles at him carefully, holding Andy’s gaze with his own. “I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it soon enough.”  
  
“Is that a promise?” Andy asks softly, reaching out to take a hold of Thomas’s free hand. This time, Thomas doesn’t try to pull away.  
  
“If that’s what you want.” Thomas blows a puff of smoke between them. Andy wrinkles his nose in disgust. “You’ll have to start working on your emergency lies to Mr Carson.”  
  
“They’re gonna talk no matter what we say, though.”  
  
“They always do.”  
  
Andy squeezes Thomas’s hand gently, as if to make sure this really is happening. “I say we’ll let them.”  
  
Thomas drops the only half-smoked cigarette to ground. “Yeah, I suppose we could do that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel: [One Time Too Many (but still I love you)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5458700)


End file.
